As Madrid prepares to mark 10 years since the train bombings that killed 192 people and injured more than 1,800, groups representing victims of the attack say they are struggling to provide much-needed support to survivors of the bombings, a battle that has become tougher in the wake of austerity measures.

A decade after 10 bombs packed with nails tore through four commuter trains heading into Atocha railway station, victims are still fighting to regain some sense of normality in their lives, said Ángeles Domínguez, of the Aid Association for Victims of 11 March. "In a perfect world, our association wouldn't exist. Sadly, it's not like that. The victims of the bombings feel like we're all alone," she said.

Frustrated with the state's meagre offering of aid and counselling in the years following the attack, Domínguez's group is one of several that help victims of the bombings. While they differ in ideology, the groups all have one thing in common – each complains of living month-to-month, constantly staving off the threat of closure.

Spain's ministry of the interior announced on Saturday that it had doubled psychological help for victims of the attack, carried out by a cell affiliated with al-Qaida. More than €315m has been spent in the past 10 years on health benefits, psychological help and training for victims, the ministry said.

But victims' groups say they have had little funding. Ángel De Marcos, of the 11 March Victims of Terrorism Association, said Spain's recent economic turmoil had dealt a cruel blow to victims who were already struggling: "When a crisis strikes, it strikes everyone. But the weakest get hurt the most."

De Marcos, who was seriously injured by one of the bombs, said that as the country's unemployment rate soared, victims of the bombings were among the first to lose their jobs and the last to be considered for any new contracts. "There's so little work to go around, they're not going to hire anyone who has any kind of problem," he said.

From fighting evictions to providing groceries, confronting the consequences of poverty has now become part of the association's mandate, De Marcos said. A psychologist for De Marcos's group recently visited a victim's apartment after she had missed three appointments in a row. "We found her sitting on the sofa in her house, fridge completely bare and the heating cut off. She didn't have the money to take the bus to her sessions," he said. "Her work had let her go, not because of the crisis but because of her problems in dealing with the attacks." His voice rose in anger as he added: "If our association didn't exist, what would happen to her?"

Conceived as a temporary measure, the victims' associations have now realised their work is far from over, said De Marcos. That has left them with little choice but to continue to lobby the Spanish government and people for support. "We think society should help," he said. "This was an attack against all of Spanish society."

Domínguez was on a crowded commuter train when the bombs exploded. The association she leads grew out of her own experiences of navigating the state's bureaucracy as a victim. Her small team includes social workers and psychologists to help victims get back on their feet, whether through job training, long-term psychological help or lending a hand with paperwork.

In 2010, as the Spanish government imposed severe austerity measures, the association's remaining state funding was cut. As Domínguez announced its imminent closure, a "miracle happened," she said. "People who were in tough situations, they gave us what they could." The generosity of Spanish people during the bleakest moments of the economic crisis still moves her. "They didn't forget us, they didn't abandon us." She paused. "But it embarrassed me to have to beg for money when the situation is so bad for so many."